


Broken.

by aliciutza



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, grieving Missandei, i thought of a part 2 but let's see if i get motivated enough to write, it is exactly what you think it is, jon please just go give your wife a hug and tell her you love her, prepare tissues i am not kidding, seasons 8 episode 5 preparation, yeah im not gonna lie this came out very sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza
Summary: Immediately after Missandei’s brutal execution, Daenerys flees King’s Landing on Drogon and gives herself a moment to grieve, a moment to be sad, and a moment to pick herself up and avenge her best friend.





	Broken.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [normalisjustafairytale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/normalisjustafairytale/gifts).



> So this happened. Mostly because of the trailer and the still of Dany looking so broken. 
> 
> I would say enjoy, but this one hurts a lot. Unless that's your thing, in which case go for it :)

Her mind would not stop replaying the moment the sword cut clean through her best friend’s neck, her single last word sending shivers down her spine, never having heard such hate in Missandei’s tone.

 

It broke her in ways she never thought it would; the helplessness seeping through her bones and settling deep in her soul. She knew it would come, the moment Cersei showed her golden head on the battlements, Missandei and the Mountain at her side. Dread filled her heart, and she just _knew_ the battle was lost the moment she had stepped foot in King’s Landing. She could not take her eyes off her best friend while her head was forcefully separated from her neck, back in the chains she had once freed her from.

 

 _Dracarys_ —the word echoed in her mind as she turned her back to Cersei.

 

 _Dracarys_ —it echoed again as she mounted a very angry and volatile Drogon.

 

 _Dracarys_ —her friend’s voice so crisp in her head again as she took control of her last remaining son and turned them away from the multiple ballistae that sat on the Red Keep’s battlements.

 

Drogon flew far away from the Throne she wanted to badly—no, needed to reach and melt to the ground. She no longer wanted. What she _wanted_ was her friend beside her, as she had been for the past years. When she could no longer see the buildings behind her, her scream mingled with Drogon’s roar, filling the entire space in Blackwater Bay.

 

She should have never left Dragon’s Bay. She should have never crossed the Narrow Sea; she should have never wanted to break her own chains. Maybe then all the people she had lost would still be alive. She screamed again so loud, only because no one would be able to hear her cries this far up.

 

Only when her voice was raw, she asked Drogon to take her home. He landed so close to the castle, the guards scrambled out of the way, lest they be accidentally crushed under her son’s claws. She sent him off with a kiss to his snout, and she made her way to her chambers.

 

She didn’t know what her face must have shown, but the Unsullied strategically posted inside Dragonstone slightly flinched as she passed them by.

 

She just needed to allow herself a moment to break, a moment to mourn, a moment to cry and wail over all those she had lost. She would then pick herself up, just as she always did, rise from the ashes of her life, rise in spite of those who wanted to cast her down, rise again to lead and protect and free those who needed the most—even if it was the last thing she did.  She just needed reach the doors to her chambers first.

 

Her trembling hands touched the handle and fumbled with it, her breath coming out in sharp pants, until it eventually came to a halt as the door clicked shut.

 

Tears blurred her vision, a sob escaping her throat, just as she fell to her knees, hand still on the handle of the door. She gave in, just this once, her wails cruelly echoing off the cold stone walls, reverberating through her, pulling more from her. She clawed at her chest, feeling her heart shatter, the shards puncturing her skin, making it hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to think.

 

Maybe her tears dried out, or maybe her fingers got numb from the pain, as she gripped the handle so strongly, her knuckles white and nails digging into her skin, but eventually dreadful silence settled over her.

 

She let go, both of her hands settling in her lap; she pressed her forehead to the cold wooden door, needing a confirmation that she was still alive despite how she couldn’t even feel herself breathe.

 

It could have been minutes or hours before she eventually got up and moved to her bed, laying over the covers, no energy left in her to do anything else but blankly stare at high ceiling, Exhaustion gained and Dany slept.

 

 

It was dark outside when she opened her eyes, but as she approached the window, she could see the first lines of dawn slowly breaking the dark night sky. She lit the two candles on the table where the looking glass rested and sat on the small chair in front of it.

 

She had seen this broken person staring back at her just once before—and she refused to think back on how long it took her to mend her heart. Two more losses—or maybe she should count them as three, for she had never been as alone as she felt in this instant. Still the lone Targaryen, despite not being the last one. She sighed, her eyes closing as the faith she had had in herself diminished to the size of a small flame, flickering against the harsh wind of the losses that were to inevitably come, threatening to be snuffed out every second.

 

She undid one of her braids, then a second one, wondering if her next battle would have her cur her own braid or if it would just have her meet her end some other way. She loathed herself for such dangerous thoughts, but she would never voice them nor show them to the world. She would allow herself as much, before she was to march to her potential death.

 

When her third braid came undone, her hand caught into one silver adorning bead. It knocked all the breath out of her—these were the last braids Missandei had braided and would ever braid. The pain made her double over her thighs, tears she thought dried out came pouring over her cheeks again, both of her hands pressing over her mouth to muffle the sobs that would not stop coming out of her worn out body.

 

She had a million reasons to just quit—retreat what was left of her armies East, go back to Meereen, try and live some semblance of a peaceful life, or continue her fight against slavers, ensure no one would ever die in chains.

 

Yet she couldn’t. For as much as she wanted, she could not forget the rage in her friend’s eyes, her powerful voice resounding for one last time, a word so simple yet so full of meaning. She had to do it, even if it was the last thing she did, even if it killed her—she would avenge her friend, no matter what.

 

When her vision became less blurry, she made her way to the chamber of Painted Table, her lone son’s sorrowful wails echoing her ones from before, as he circled above the sea.

 

On the beach, two small figures made their way to the castle. Still, her heart wouldn’t dare hope, for hope bred eternal misery. She leaned against the wall, her soul so weak she could barely recognise it as herself. Dany closed her eyes and inhaled—a storm was coming, and with it came fire and blood.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for this. I guess today I took a hit irl and I needed to pour my grief into something. Huge thanks to Sarah, who has become my endless source of fic ideas. 
> 
> Let's hope I get enough time and inspiration for a part 2 in which Jon enters the scene...


End file.
